


In Case of Emergency, Please Call...

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Feelings, Hurt Clint Barton, Minor Injuries, Strangers to Friends, Wrong number
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 10:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20758592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: Natasha Romanoff, a corporate spy, finds herself as the emergency contact of injury prone stuntman Clint Barton. With every hospital visit the pair grow closer and an unexpected connection develops.





	In Case of Emergency, Please Call...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).

> Written for my winning bidder of the charity hawktion, and a happy belated birthday to Kalika999 :D

"Ms Romanoff, if your phone goes off one more time…"

Natasha uttered an insincere apology to Fury, her boss, and toggled the phone to silent. It wasn't like she wanted to keep interrupting the board meeting. She had a lot of important contacts and there were some messages that couldn't be ignored. Just because the men in suits were talking at each other (never to her) didn't mean she'd stop doing her job. Still, she did as Fury said because if she didn't then she wouldn't have a job to do for much longer. 

As the meeting progressed, Natasha's attention shifted. Every few minutes her phone screen would flash, another incoming call from an unknown number, and the urge to get up and answer it was growing. There was almost no point in her being her. However, getting any time with the board was a rare thing, not an opportunity to be wasted for baseless curiosity and a few random calls.

Eventually her time came to speak and she jumped straight into her report, well aware that the only reason she held the room's attention was because of her low-cut blouse. If only these misogynists knew the secrets she had on them. They'd certainly give her the respect she deserved then. "According to my research, Hammer Tech and Stark Industries are in the later stages of design for the new reactors. You can see on the handouts that our own progress at SHIELD Inc. is at least 6 months behind them both." 

Natasha glanced up to gauge the board's reaction, unsurprised to find half the men back on their phones. Hypocrites and thieves the lot of them, claiming they'd hired her for her skills but only caring about the end results - and the money that followed - instead of her plans and insights along the way. However, as much as she wanted to call them out on their behaviour, there weren't all that many jobs in industrial espionage (not legal ones, anyway) and this was too cushy a position to throw away for something so mundane as morals stand points. 

Passing around another set of folders, all of which were handed straight to personal secretaries to be read later - or, rather, for the PAs to read and then summarise in nice, easy words - Natasha continued, "Production is set to begin at Hammer Tech next month which gives us enough time to get someone in there and look at the plans. Hammer is the easiest target. Send a pretty face to stroke his ego and -"

Natasha's presentation slowed to a halt as her attention flickered to the flashing light on her phone. This was the tenth call she'd received in the past half hour. The chances of that many spam callers banding together to torment her was unlikely, although her paranoia claimed otherwise. The rational part of her brain said it had to be important. 

"Ms Romanoff, if you aren't too busy," Fury said, sharp as a knife. "We have places to be and you are wasting our time."

It was hard not to laugh. All but one of the board, the only woman, Hill, weren't even listening to her and Natasha was quick to point it out. In an outburst she'd later come to consider regretting, and then promptly decide that she didn't care either way, she hissed, "Me? Wasting _your_ time? You know what I do for this company, for you, and have had me waiting outside for hours just to sit here and be ignored by a group of greedy, selfish bastards. Not you, Maria. You're great. But the rest of you should be thanking me for all the money I've lined your pockets with and bear in mind that I could just as easily be doing this job for anyone. You think you've hidden your skeletons but there is nowhere I won't find them."

Giving them no time to respond, probably for the best, Natasha scooped the files into her arms and strode calmly out the room. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her storm or skulk away. As the door shut behind her, she let out a shaky breath, the weight of her actions hitting her hard. 

However, before she could contemplate going back and apologising to the men who paid her bills and kept her in a penthouse apartment in central New York, her phone began flashing once again. She pushed her concerns aside and slipped into an empty office to answer. "Who is this?"

"Natasha Romanoff?"

"Yes. Who's speaking?"

"I'm calling from the Metropolitan Hospital Centre. You're on file as the emergency contact for Clinton Francis Barton."

Natasha was good with names - it was a prerequisite for her profession as it made sneaking around in places she shouldn't be so much easier - but that was not one she recognised. "Right. Is he okay?"

"He was in an accident but is out of surgery and in the recovery ward now. Visiting hours end at five." 

"Oh, no, I don't want to -"

Her protests were too late as the receptionist wrapped up, "Have a nice day."

***

Hospitals were not Natasha's favourite places. The bright, flickering lights overhead put her on edge. The sharp scent of disinfectant burnt her nostrils, made her feel quite sick. She'd been brought up to believe that sickness was just another form of weakness and abhorred feeling that way. 

Quite desperate to spend as little time there as possible, Natasha strode over to the front desk and asked after her mysterious Clinton Barton. "Hi, I'm here to… Excuse me, I… Hello?"

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the receptionists were incredible overworked and too lost in the hundred tasks on their to-do lists to even notice that they had company. Instead of bothering them further, Natasha waited for one to turn her back before reaching over the counter to snatch the patient files. She ran her finger down the page until she found Barton's room number.

She knocked gently on the door and it swung open. The hospital room was bare, as they always were, but this was even more sad than usual. There were no get well soon cards or flowers on the small side table, only an empty can of coffee flavoured energy drink. 

Despite his unflattering hospital gown, his great physique was clear to see. She knew it was inappropriate however Natasha couldn't help but stare at the veins that ran up his arms, over strong, thick muscles that ached to be touched. His blond hair was messy, longing for a trim as it covered the majority of his features. Nice features too, she noted.

One arm was in a cast and a quick glance at the records on the edge of the bed explained that he'd had an operation after rupturing his spleen. A pretty rough day, she thought. They seemed to be going around. At least her own hadn't ended with a brawl in the boardroom, although if it had she knew she'd have held her own. 

Rustling outside the room made Natasha aware that she'd been hovering, _staring_, too long so she knocked again, a little harder this time. It didn't wake Clint but a few seconds later he stirred anyway, no doubt sensing a strange woman watching him sleep. 

"Hi," Natasha said. "I got a call saying you'd been in an accident and I came to check on you."

"Hey." He reached over to the table and grabbed something from the drawer. It was too small for Natasha to see anything other than a blur of purple. Only when he slipped the device over his ear did she realise it was a hearing aid. 

Clint pushed himself up on the bed, his entire face contorting in pain as he stretched his stitches, and stared at her expectantly. "I hope you have warmer hands than Nurse Cho."

"Not a nurse. Not here for that kind of checkup."

A soft blush spread over Clint's cheeks. He muttered a quiet apology, tapping his ears as an excuse. Glancing up from beneath his lashes, Clint took a moment to study Natasha. She stood straight, used to the gaze of men on her body. As a younger woman it had bothered her but she'd learned to take their desire and twist it to her benefit, to wrap them around her finger and have them spilling secrets before they so much as laid a finger on her. 

There was something different about the way Clint looked at her, though. He didn't gawk, didn't stare at her like a piece of meat. Instead of imagining what her body could do, he focused on her face. Of course, that didn't stop him from attempting flattery. "As nice as it is to have a pretty lady in my room, why are you here?"

"The hospital called me. Ten times. Apparently I'm your emergency contact."

"You are? Huh."

Arms folded across her chest, Natasha looked down on the man with disdain. She'd made the decision to trek all across the city to see him to get an explanation and have him remove her from his file. Irritation thinly laced, certainly not helped by the afternoon she'd already had, she said, "Huh? That's all you have to say?"

"Oh. Well. I don't get on with my family and they told me last time I was here that I needed someone on file. So, I grabbed the phone book and picked a name at random. Lucky you."

Natasha bit back the sharp retort on her lips, understanding too well how it felt to have no one in the world on your side. Calming herself, the bandages on his nose and forehead a reminder that this man had nearly died and didn't need a random woman chewing his ass off today, she pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat down. "Well, I guess it's nice to meet you, Clinton."

"Oh, god, it's Clint. No one calls me that."

"Natasha." She stretched out her hand, unoffended when he hesitated to take it. "Nice to meet you."

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" There was a coolness to his tone, one she recognised too well. In his defence, she had been the exact same way with him since she'd walked in. Plus, when you had no-one, it was all too easy to distrust those around you. A stranger offering an olive branch almost always had an ulterior motive. 

He was also giving her a way out, a reason to leave and rid herself of the bother of sticking around, but there was something about Clint, a kindred soul, a kind, decent, lonely man, that made Natasha want to stay. "Nope. Doubt Fury'll want to see me again today after what I said earlier. Best to stay off his radar for a few days."

"What do you do?"

"I compare and report on designs and upcoming technological advances for a few companies," she answered quickly. It was a carefully chosen description; complicated enough that it sounded important but not quite so interesting that people asked for further details. Certainly a nicer way to say corporate espionage. In a job where one steals secrets and important information, it was best not to draw too much attention with a flashy or incomprehensible title. "But today I called my entire board bastards to their faces so might not be doing it for much longer."

Quick to move away from the topic, Natasha asked, "What about you? What were you doing before you… Well, whatever brought you here."

"This?" He gestured down with his one good arm and smiled. Natasha was momentarily stunned by the dazzling grin, awed by how someone could be so genuinely cheerful after major surgery. It had to be drugs. "I was tight roping over a twenty foot deep pit of spikes. I saw a dog and I lost my concentration. I'm a stuntman, by the way."

With that addition, his story made far more sense - at least, as much as it possibly could. "Do you enjoy it?"

"Sure. It's fun. I get to play at being a superhero or a pirate or explorer. You know, everything a kid dreams of being. Also lets me indulge the voice in my head that tells me to jump of buildings without the unfortunate dying that follows. Stops me doing it for real."

Not entirely certain whether he was joking or not, Natasha spent the next few hours getting to know the bizarre man. Clint had a remarkable penchant for getting distracted and as such they covered everything from how he felt about dogs (he loved them) and his opinions on coffee (he really loved that, but only the strong stuff) to the politics in Wakanda (he didn't know much about that but appreciated the fabrics that came out of the country as they had, on multiple occasions, protected him from being impaled on dangerous stunts). 

The more she learned about him, despite only being the trivial things, Natasha felt a real connection with Clint. He was charming in a way that she couldn't describe. A mess of a man but one who clearly wanted to be better, to do well by people. He was also far smarter than he let on. He saw through her facade, snuck in through the cracks and made her laugh, made her smile, in a way Natasha had almost forgotten was possible. 

By the time she was forcibly removed from the room, a few hours after visiting hours had officially ended, Natasha had forgotten entirely about telling him to remove her as his emergency contact. In fact, as horrible a thought as it was, she almost looked forward to Clint hurting himself again (despite only knowing him for one afternoon, she knew he would) just so she had a reason to see him again. 

***

"Already, Barton, really? They'll give me a permanent parking space if you keep on at this rate." 

Clint merely shrugged. He wasn't at all fazed by the fact this was the third time this week that he'd been brought to hospital. The man didn't know when to give up. Despite all recommendations by the nurses and doctors, he just jumped straight back into work and ended up hurting himself again. 

Thankfully, the past few times had been nothing serious. Quick x-rays had shown no major cracks - or at least nothing so bad that Clint would actually stop working - and Natasha had just picked him up at the front gate and driven him home. 

Today, though, he'd fallen and hit his head. Natasha didn't have a lot of knowledge when it came to injuries but it didn't look too bad. A dark bruise on his temple and a small scratch under his left eye were the worst of it. However, the doctors were apparently fearful of a concussion so were keeping him overnight for observation (and no doubt to stop him from jumping out a plane or whatever other ridiculous thing had been on his schedule for tomorrow). 

Pushing himself upright, Clint narrowed his gaze on her bag and said, "Please tell me you brought the stuff."

Natasha wanted to tell him that there were easier ways to get a free pizza than getting a concussion but Clint was pouting and it was, frankly, adorable so instead she pulled up her usual chair and dropped the takeaway box in his lap. "I made sure they took the olives off after the huff you had last time. Honestly, I bring you a decent dinner out of the goodness of my heart and all you do is complain. Ridiculous."

"Who puts olives on a pizza? Were you raised by wolves?"

"Most people do! You are the strange one for wanting pineapple. Fruit does not belong on pizza."

Mouth full, Clint looked Natasha dead in the eyes and pointed out, "Olives and tomatoes are fruits too."

"Oh, shut up, Barton," she bit back, helping herself to a slice of pizza. Clint narrowed his eyes but Natasha didn't care; after all, she'd paid for it. As she picked off the pineapple pieces, she asked, "So what did you do this time? A big car chase? No, it was a big fight, right, and you didn't duck out the way fast enough. Or you were being dragged behind a car and the rope came loose."

Clint's cheeks turned pink, a sight that Natasha never got tired of seeing. He ran a hand through his hair and grumbled an answer, lost beneath the loud chewing. She raised her eyebrows, silently waiting for him to repeat himself, and he couldn't resist her. "Don't laugh."

"I won't," she promised, although they both knew it was a lie. 

"I didn't do this at work."

"Right."

"I was at home, resting like the doc told me I should. So really it's his fault because if he hadn't written me that really aggressive note that advised Steve - he's my boss - that I shouldn't be working then I wouldn't have been at home. But anyway, I was chilling, aids out, enjoying the quiet and - you know, it's not actually that quiet when I take my hearing aids out? I can still -"

Natasha softly put her hand on Clint's arm to stop his ramblings. His gaze snapped to where her fingers touched his skin and she instantly pulled away, both too stubborn to allow the awkwardness to disrupt their time together. Smiling gently, Natasha steered him back on track. "What happened, Barton? Short and sweet."

"I fell over Lucky."

"What?"

"My dog. I had my hearing aids out, as I was trying to tell you, and didn't hear him come up behind me. Tripped over the poor boy and whacked my head on the table."

"Oh, Clint." Natasha's heart went out to him, it really did. It was a miracle that he was able to make it through the day and yet here he was surviving everything the world threw at him. He truly was a disaster, a level of clumsiness that Natasha had never seen before. Really, someone needed to wrap him in bubble wrap but she knew he'd still find a way to hurt himself. It was endearing, though. In the same way a person can't help but be fond of a blind, three legged cat that constantly walks into walls, Natasha couldn't help but feel the same about Clint. 

Blue eyes lowered to his lap, a bashful smile tugged at his lips and lit up Clint's face. "I know," he muttered. "At least Lucky didn't get hurt. Enough about me, though. Did that Angry dude forgive you?"

It took an embarrassingly long time for it to click what Clint was talking about. In her defence, Natasha came across a lot of 'angry dudes' in her life and managed to upset a good proportion of them. Sadly, or perhaps interestingly depending on your world view, it was only occasionally that she actually did it on purpose; there were simply too many fragile egos in the business world, unable to deal with a confident, intelligent woman who knew more than them.

Stretching her legs out, Natasha threw her feet up onto the edge of Clint's hospital bed and made herself comfortable. As comfortable as she could be in the small metal chair, anyway. "_Fury._ He let it drop but I don't think I was forgiven. Don't really care either way, honestly." 

Clint watched her carefully, clearly wondering just how true that was. He saw through her in a way no one else did. Natasha had spent years building up walls, perfecting her lies and disguises until she could barely tell the truth from fiction. However, to Clint, a man she'd barely known a month, the distinction was apparently crystal clear. She might have been touched by the attention if it wasn't so disconcerting.

"I should be going," Natasha said, clearing her throat. Clint's expression dropped and her chest physically tightened. She didn't want to leave but if she stayed then these feelings might become more tangible and it was far too soon to put a name to them. For now, she was content to recognise their existence but ignore them entirely, as one might when passing an old school mate who you'd not spoken to in years. 

"Yeah. No, yeah, that's cool. I won't hold you up if you've got somewhere important to be. Don't wanna be a burden."

Natasha lay her hand softly over his and gave a gentle squeeze. What she wanted to say was that he would never be a burden. A huge pain in the ass, no doubt, but one that she was becoming rather annoyingly attached to. It was bad for business, becoming attached to another person, a distraction that she couldn't seem to shake. Didn't want to shake. And yet Natasha still struggled to believe that this hope, these possibilities weren't another weakness as she'd been taught. 

She wanted to tell him all of that, to let Clint feel how her heart fluttered when him grinned at her, how the frequent visits to the hospital were her favourite parts of the week, but instead she bit her tongue and said, simply, "Feel better, Barton. Until next time."

***

_Can you check on Lucky? Forgot to feed him before I left and they won't let me out til Friday._

Natasha received the text about ten seconds before the hospital called. She recognised the number instantly, her mouth turning up at the corners at the familiar coolness of Janice the receptionist. "Romanoff? He's back again."

"What did he do now?"

"Don't know, don't care," Janice replied shortly. To anyone else, she would have maintained a suitable professionalism but Natasha had come to know the woman fairly well over the past months. She'd earned her trust through copious amounts of caffeine and was rewarded with honesty and a blind eye whenever she came bearing foods and drinks that other visitors would be forbidden to bring into the patient wings. "Have a great day."

Natasha hung up the phone and redirected her taxi driver to Clint's apartment. She knew the address by heart now. His neighbourhood was about as far removed from her own as possible. Every building was crumbling, held together by the sheer will of its inhabitants alone. One in three windows were smashed or boarded up. Only the bravest residents left their cars unattended and even they knew not to risk roaming the streets after dark. 

Curiously, the deeds to the building (which Natasha had just happened to stumble across on an encrypted government server) belonged to Clint himself. Although since it was had previously been on record under the name of a known mafia boss, she wondered just what he'd done to get his name on the paperwork. Clint truly was a fascinating man.

She made her way up to his apartment and began rummaging through her purse before realising that she did not have, and had never had, a key to his apartment. Thankfully, a kind, if strange, woman named Aimee had a spare and let her in. The pink haired lady didn't stop chatting Natasha's ear off as she searched for Lucky, who was eventually found cuddled up beneath a pile of dirty laundry, but she found the inane babbling quite relaxed the dog so didn't complain. 

Tempting the dog out of his stinky hiding place with a slice of cold pizza (Clint had mentioned how it was the only reason Lucky bothered to stay around, aside from the cosy dog bed he never used), Natasha managed to get him to follow her downstairs back to the cab. The driver forgot his usual 'no animals' policy when Natasha shoved a few more notes in his hand and directed him to the hospital. 

The easiest way to get away with doing something against the rules is to do it with confidence. That was exactly how Natasha got Lucky into the hospital without anyone questioning her. After all, there were plenty of legitimate reasons she could have the dog: as a guide dog, for animal therapy with patients… Well, there were two she could think off but thankfully no one bothered to stop her. As a familiar face around the building, most of the nurses barely cast her a second glance any more. 

Clint was in the same room as usual. Guiding Lucky behind her, Natasha strode in and smiled at her sleeping friend. She gave him a quick once over, relieved to find that he didn't seem to be in any pain, and glanced at his chart to see what he'd gone and done this time. Another stunt gone wrong, it seemed. To a normal person, a broken rib and bruised lung would be a major concern. To Clint it was just another Tuesday. 

Too peaceful to wake, Natasha left Clint sleeping and entertained herself with Lucky for a good hour. When his light eyelashes began to flutter, Natasha rested her elbows on the edge of the mattress and traced her fingers over a rough scar on Clint's arm, gently drawing him back into the real world. "Good to see you rejoining the living."

"Huh? Who… Oh, hey, Nat." Clint's panic at waking up in a strange, bright room immediately faded when he saw her by his bedside, a soft smile playing across his features as he sank back into the bed. His eyes drifted shut, a quiet hum passed his lips as Natasha continued to trail her fingers over his skin. 

"You had me scared, you know. Thought you'd gone and done something serious this time because they weren't letting you out. I brought someone to see you." When she received no reply, Natasha tapped the back of his hand until he opened his eyes. "You alright, Barton?"

"Did you say something?" he asked, rolling onto his side with a groan. Natasha began to repeat herself but he held up a hand to stop her a few words in. "Slowly, please. I busted my aids when I fell and my lip reading sucks."

Feeling incredibly stupid for not realising the bright purple devices were missing from his ears, Natasha apologised and sat straight, giving him the clearest view of her face possible. She decided that he didn't need to hear how worried she had been, that it had in fact been a blessing that he'd missed it - their friendship was good; those kind of thoughts would only complicate matters. 

Instead, utilising a few basic gestures not at all based in ASL but rather more a poor version of charades, she said, "I went to your place and saw Lucky."

"Is he okay?"

"Ask him yourself." Natasha reached down to her feet and scratched the soft fur behind Lucky's ears to get his attention. He looked up with wide eyes and started to pant excitedly when he saw Clint on the bed above. She tapped the mattress and he jumped up, licking a slobbery trail over his owner's face before settling comfortably against his side. 

Clint fussed over Lucky for a good five minutes, muttering all kinds of strange endearments and sharing a rather bizarre conversation about arrows and a girl called Kate with the dog, then turned back to Natasha with a grateful smile. Stretching his fingers through the thick golden fur, he asked, "How did you get him in here?"

"Front door."

"You didn't get into any trouble, did you?"

She shook her head. Even if she had, it would have been worth it to see Clint so happy. 

He put on a good face but she'd spent enough of her life building a facade to see through others'. He was sad when he thought no one was watching but his eyes seemed to burn a little brighter whenever he spoke about his dog. Now, that same light illuminated his face as he looked at her, unable to find the words to thank her properly. 

"It's not that big a deal," Natasha said, both of them aware that was far from the truth. Thankfully, before either could dwell on it, her phone began to vibrate in her pocket. Natasha glanced at the screen and immediately wished she hadn't. All her good vibes soured at the number. It was Fury's personal line which could only be bad; he never reached out himself unless it was really important. 

Clint reached out to take her hand, concern bleeding from his features. Normally she'd have pulled away but her guard was down and the soft brushes of his thumb over her knuckles was soothing her nerves. "You alright?"

"Not for long, I suspect," she answered, unable to lie to him. She had no idea what Fury wanted but the last time he'd reached out personally, she'd ended up breaking into an armoured van and spending a long month in prison with a domineering woman named Gertrude. Gathering her things, she turned back towards him and apologised for disappearing. "I need to go. I might be gone for a few weeks. Please, try not to do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"It's not my fault. I attract stupid like a magnet." Clint watched her leave but spoke up just before she made it across the threshold. "You're coming back, right?"

Natasha didn't even have to think about it. There was nothing on this Earth that would keep her from seeing Clint again. "Of course I am. I promise."

***

"Morning, Nurse Cho," Natasha smiled, handing the overworked healer a fresh cup of latte. Considering how much Natasha used to hate hospitals, she found the thick smell of disinfectant and bright flickering lights almost comforting now. It had been a long few weeks infiltrating a rival company to appropriate a copy of their latest designs. Coming back to the familiar faces and places was almost like returning home, calming and rejuvenating. 

She'd barely stepped foot in Clint's room before finding herself crushed between two strong arms. Clint squeezed her tight, holding her tight as if scared that she might slip through his fingers if he so much as moved an inch. Not entirely sure what had prompted this reaction, Natasha relaxed into him despite her confusion and gently stroked his messy hair. Cheek to cheek, she muttered lightly, "Hey, it's okay. What's wrong?"

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too," she replied, pulling back and holding him by the shoulders. He was battered and bruised (although that was fairly standard for Clint) but she knew by the twinkle in his eyes that he was truly alright. "It's only been a few weeks, Barton. Barely enough time to notice I was gone."

Clint lifted a hand to her face, gently tracing the line of her jaw. Natasha leant into his touch, unable and unwilling to hold back the smile on her lips. Her emotions were mirrored in Clint's expression; his bright blue eyes shone with relief, his fingers trembled against her skin. "I was worried."

They moved back towards the bed and perched on the edge, thighs touching and elbows bumping as they sought closeness with one another. Natasha took his hand and pulled it into her lap, running her thumb over the numerous scars and burns that marred his skin. "I'm fine. Are you? They said you jumped from a window with any safety cables."

"I knew the hospital would be able to reach you."

A million thoughts came to a crashing halt inside Natasha's brain as she replayed his words. Somewhere between laughing hysterically and throttling her ridiculous friend, she held up a finger and asked, "Hang on. Are you saying you shattered a tibia, cracked a hip and ruptured your kidney just to get my attention? If you wanted to see me that bad you could've just sent a text." 

"I tried calling you and you didn't answer!"

"The next logical step isn't to then jump out a window! Use your words next time, alright?" 

Far too smug for someone in hospital, Clint countered, "It got you here, didn't it?"

No reasonable argument was going to get through Clint's thick skull, that much was clear, so Natasha simply shook her head and groaned despairingly, "You are unbelievable."

"I know. Do you wanna get coffee?"

"Sure, I'll put the kettle on."

Clint caught Natasha's hand and pulled her back onto the bed. "No, I mean, do you wanna get coffee. Sometime. With me."

"What?" She looked down at their tangled fingers searching for a meaning she already understood but was too frightened to believe. If she did, for even one second, so much as hope that Clint cared shared her feelings then it opened the gate to heartbreak when it all inevitably fell apart.

Cautious but absolutely certain in his intensity, Clint said, "You just told me to use my words. So I'm trying. If you don't want to then it's fine and we can blame the drugs, pretend nothing was said and go back to how it is now but… Hell, I don't have the words to tell you how fucking special you are, Tasha. All I know is that you've been here for me when no one else has and I would - I _have_ \- jumped off a building to spend a few hours with you. You're gorgeous and funny and honestly a little scary sometimes but over the past months you've become my best friend. 

"How am I doing? I'm not good at… _this_." Clint waved his arms vaguely between them, hoping she'd get his meaning. She did. "Am I anywhere close to convincing you to go out with me?"

Honestly, Natasha didn't need convincing. She was already so far gone on Clint that it terrified her but when he smiled at her all her worries seemed to fade away. Still, she didn't see the harm in making him work for it. Leaning back against the hard headboard, she folded her arms over her chest and smirked. "Tell me how great I am some more, then we'll see."

She hadn't been expecting Clint to launch into a list of her praises but that was exactly what he did. Compliments rolled off his tongue, ranging from touching, "you make me feel human, like I'm worthy of love", to utterly ridiculous, "you think olives deserve to be on pizza", until he stopped abruptly. "You were joking, weren't you? Scale of one to ten, how bad did I screw this up? I feel like it's at least a solid eight..."

"I'd love to get coffee with you, Clint."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

The brightest smile erupted on Clint's face. He rested his head on Natasha's shoulder and breathed a quiet, "Yay."


End file.
